


If You Ever Wondered

by romanticalgirl



Category: WKRP in Cincinnati
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:03:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baby, think of me once in a while</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Ever Wondered

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/profile)[**nolivingman**](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/) for the beta. Written for the [Sex Is Fun! Challenge-A-Thon Thingie](http://romanticalgirl.livejournal.com/574994.html).
> 
> Originally posted 2-24-08

“So, this is the inner sanctum.” Bailey rubs her hands up and down her arms, shivering in the cold air. “Do you think she keeps it this cold so her heart won’t melt?”

“Ice that thick doesn’t melt.” Andy moves over to the liquor cabinet and pours them each a drink in faceted crystal glasses. “You thirsty?”

“No, but I’m cold.” She moves over next to him and takes one of the glasses, downing the contents in one long swallow. Andy’s eyebrows shoot up, and he doesn’t look away as a hot shiver runs through her, the liquid burning a trail through the chill in the air. “Better.”

He nods wordlessly, pretty sure a bit of his own cold has dissipated with that shiver. He guides her over to the low couch along the wall and sits beside her, his own drink still in his hand. “You think anyone’s going to realize we’re here?”

“No.” Bailey leans back against the leather and turns her head to face him, her typical smile – part innocence and part something decidedly not – on her lips. “Everyone’s gone for the weekend, and most of them left in a state of inebriation that’s going to make it hard for them to remember where they live, much less if anyone forgot to check Mama Carlson’s office for strays before they locked the doors from the outside. So I think we’re stuck here the night, until Harris comes in the morning and does his cleaning.”

“You think there’s a chance we can turn off the air conditioner since neither of us is part polar bear?” He gets off the couch and goes to the dial on the wall, turning it until the air cuts off sharply. He turns and leans against the wall, watching Bailey as she leans her head back against the sofa, her shoes kicked off and her feet tucked up beneath her on the cushion. He works hard to keep his mind where it belongs, which is on business and not on how her hair falls against the collar of her pink shirt or how the light reflects off her glasses.

She tilts her head and her hair falls to the side, exposing her neck. Andy’s eyes follow the line of it from the hollow just below her ear to her collarbone. Another shiver runs through her and she looks across the room at Andy. “Is there more of that?”

It takes him a moment to register that she’s talking about the liquor in his glass, and another to make his brain start working again, especially considering the unexpected flow of blood to extremities not even closely related. “Yeah.” He moves to the bar and refills her glass then moves back to sit down beside her.

“So, it could be worse.” Bailey’s voice is filled with the determined practicality that Andy admires just slightly more than it annoys him. “We have booze and a place to sit. If we wanted, we could even turn up the speakers and listen to Johnny all night.”

“You actually listen to our station?”

She laughs and bumps her shoulder against his. “Yes. Don’t you?”

“Not if I don’t have to.” He stretches out, his legs long and muscular in his jeans, thanks to all the running he does in his off hours. He turns his head and smiles at her, not surprised to see the smile returned. “You really do?”

“Someone has to keep our numbers up.”

“You’re something, Bailey Quarters.”

“That’s what they say, Andy Travis.” She turns slightly and brings her legs up, sipping her drink this time as she looks at him, leaning forward to rest her chin on her knees. “Something else, something special, something.”

He reaches out and tucks an errant curl back behind her ear then lets his fingers trail down her cheek to the faint scar on her chin. “Who are they?”

“Hmm?” Her eyes drift closed and she leans into his touch.

“The they that say that.” Andy sets his drink aside and reaches for hers, his other hand carefully stroking her skin. “Who are they?”

“Are you asking me if someone’s going to keep you from kissing me, Andy Travis?”

“No.”

Bailey smiles slightly, her breath escaping in a soft huff of air. “No?”

“Nobody’s going to stop me from kissing you, Bailey.” He leans in, not thinking about work relationships and how they _don’t_ work, or about Johnny or anyone else. He doesn’t think about anything except about how the taste of scotch on her lips doesn’t disguise the real taste of her, mint chewing gum, chocolate and coffee. She slides closer and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his lap. Her jeans are faded denim and they slide against his, a frisson of friction that whispers in the chilled air.

She murmurs a low sound against his mouth as her lips part, and he can’t help but return the sound with a groan, his tongue slipping into her mouth and moving over the warm, wet surfaces, tasting her. She shifts on his lap, moving to straddle him, her knees digging into his thighs as she wraps her arms around his neck. His hands slide up the underside of her thighs to her buttocks, settling there and holding her against him.

Bailey shifts forward, the heat of her body seated right above the hard pulse of his, and his hands tighten, fingers curving and digging into the denim, pressing hard against her skin. She groans this time, taking command of the kiss, her tongue delving between his lips, exploring him.

He pulls back to breathe when he can’t take it any more, his head falling against the back of the couch. He starts to say something, unable to remember what it was or anything else as Bailey’s fingers run down his chest, tugging his shirt from his jeans and beginning to unbutton them, working the small pearl discs free and spreading the fabric away from his skin.

“Are we drunk?”

“Don’t know, Andy Travis.” She laughs and leans in, her mouth moving against his neck. “You need to be drunk to do this?”

Andy thrusts upward, his hands still holding her against him. “Be in trouble if so, because, damned if I don’t want to do this all the time, Bailey.”

She shivers, her teeth nipping at the thick vein in his neck, her tongue pressed against his pulse. He slides one hand up her back and presses her against him, the soft cotton of her shirt rubbing against the sandy brown hair on his chest, teasing his hardening nipples with the faint promise of hers beneath the layers of cloth.

It’s exciting, this wild side of her, trapped under her huge glasses and demure clothes. She gets lost in Jennifer’s shadow, in all the corners of the station. Everyone knows her and knows what she can do, but she’s pushed to the outskirts. There’s nothing shadowed or insubstantial about her in his hands though as she bends her head lower, planting hot, biting kisses against his chest. She laughs with every mark she leaves, pleased with the jerk of Andy’s hips and the sounds he can’t quite stop. “Bailey…”

Her teeth find a nipple and she bites a little harder than before and his hand tangles in her hair, fisting tight. She flicks her tongue against the abused flesh and then gives into the demand of his hand, looking up at him with hot eyes behind smeared glass, the frames askew on the end of her nose. Her lips are wet and red and he cuts off anything she might say with a hard, hungry kiss. She laughs against his mouth and he can’t help but join in, turning her and dumping her on the couch beside him.

She lets out a soft shriek of giggles as Andy turns, angling himself over her, between her legs. She curves one around the back of his calves and lets the other fall off the edge of the couch. His shirt falls down around her like a curtain as he braces himself and then lowers himself down to her, his mouth teasing over hers. “Unbutton your shirt, Bailey.”

Her breath shudders out of her, shaking as much as her hands as he watches them unfasten her shirt. Her skin is like something out of a storybook, virgin milkmaids or fairytale princesses, though the dark red lace bra is more the Playboys he used to hide under his bed from his mother.

“Oh, God.” He lowers himself down onto her, his mouth over the lace and the flesh and tasting. He keeps repeating the phrase beneath his breath like a mantra or a prayer, and Bailey’s leg tightens, holding her against him as she thrusts up with every scrape of teeth and the hot moisture of his mouth. His brain fractures, trying to process all the sensations, the bulk of his mind focused on her heel digging into the ligament he tore in baseball and home runs and high school and how very, very much he wants to slide inside her.

“A-Andy.” Her voice shakes as much as the hands she’s running up and down his back and he lifts his head up. Her eyes are bright and hot, and her mouth is in that damn innocent smile, and he kisses her hard, hand sliding between them to work her jeans open. They’re pressed hard together, so it’s not easy, but country determination gets the job done and soon she’s all soft, sweet skin against him. He pulls away enough that she can undo his belt and get his fly undone.

She eases her leg free so she can shove her own jeans down, and he gets caught with his halfway down his thighs as he watches the frantic reveal of her body in what feels like slow motion. His brain kicks into high gear about the second her jeans hit the floor and he follows them with his own, kicking off denim and boots and everything else that’s keeping him from being inside her.

He should have known she’d be wanton, he’s watched his fair share of horror movies, just like every other red-blooded American male, but the heat of her surprises him, how much she seems to want _him_ , and the sheer joy that comes out in her laugh as she grabs his hips and holds him against her, rubbing her body along his like a cat. There’s still that shyness that makes her Bailey, but like this, she’s something more, more herself than everyone else lets her be.

Sliding into her is easy, slick and wet, pushing into the tight heat and groaning against the sigh on her lips, tasting relief and release and that damned smile that haunts him. He kisses her again, biting her lower lip and making her laugh, growling until she’s giggling and then silencing her with hard, desperate thrusts that he can’t quite control, especially when she wraps her legs around his hips and begs him softly for more.

Who comes first is a moot point because all he feels is heat until suddenly they’re both lying there, sticky with sweat cooling rapidly in the slightly less than artic air of Mama Carlson’s office. His chest matches the rapid rise and fall of hers. “I am never gonna be able to be in this room again, you know.”

Bailey laughs and tightens her legs, arching up against him one more time. “Think of it this way, maybe remembering this will help combat the chill.”

He tugs the afghan off the back of the couch and pulls it over them, resting his head lightly so that his breath feathers against her neck. “Pretty sure I’m never gonna be cold again.”  



End file.
